Sam Holtmon

2006-08-29T07:24:00.000-07:00

ar
The Fringe is now officially over. It's been a thouroghly enjoyable 4 weeks. But all good things must come to an end. I have been looking about town to get a final symbolic photo which would sum up the Friunge experience, but unfortuantely I'm slightly stupid and waited until today to do so when doing it yesterday- being the final day of the Fringe and all- would have been a better option. So no colourful photos of fireworks, no mad buskers and no crazed leafletters throwing their shows flyers in your face. Instead, I offer you a truck!

On a normal festival day, this would be the Smirnoff Underbelly. It would be full of festival-goers laughing and drinking. But today, it is being dismantled for another year. I am intrigued to see how they dismantle the inflatable upside-down cow venue: The UdderBelly. It would be great if some rougue comedian is doing a performance right now, whilst the inflatable walls are caving in on him.

Roll on Fringe 2007!

2006-08-27T14:05:00.000-07:00

Walking along Princes Street, I have discovered the best busker I have ever seen. It requires minimal movement but, bloody hell, he deserves every penny he gets.

2006-08-27T12:55:00.000-07:00

As the festival winds down to a close, the workload becomes lighter. This is good because it leaves more time for me to relax. So, after compliling my last feature for the Evening News, I returned to the flat, to discover my flatmates purchasing, what looked like, all the alcohol Edinburgh has to offer. Beer cans occupying every space in the fridge, wine bottles poking out of a every crack in the floor, and vodka bottles on every window sill in the flat.
This was going to be a good night.

2 hours later, my flatmate Nerea had invited every Spanish person in Edinburgh to the house, and with me and my other flatmate, Mike, being non-Spanish, (English and Irish respectively) we decided to ingratiate ourselves into the conversation, which mainly consisted of 'Que?' and a lot of exaggerated shrugs, with our bottom lip drooping in a cartoon manner.

I can't really remeber much else, to be honest. I do recall bumping into well known stand-up comic, Tim Minchin, at a burger shop, late on in the evening. It was weird because he came ambling over to Nerea, Mike and myself, and made a wisecrack about something. But a split second later, Mike and myself burst out laughing, only for Minchin to abruptly leave. I'm not sure if we insulted him or not. I hope not. I was too drunk to remember. Although, Mike is having some flashbacks to the night, and is certain he said 'YOU BOLLOCKS!', to Minchin's joke. For the record, Minchin is NOT a bollock. He's a top quality comedian, who just happened to have an unfortuante encounter with two drunk gits.

Staggering back to the flat at 6am, I flopped onto my bed, only to hear Nerea (who is a formidable 24/7 party machine), shout outside my bedroom door, 'Sam! We are going to a punk festival on an island tomorrow, are you coming?' To which I drukenly replied, 'Bruuuuulllgh!' She assumed this meant - 'Why, of course I will partake in this splendid punk festival. '

9am I rolled out of bed with a hangover I can't describe with mere words. My head just wanted to jetison off my neck and run to the hills. But I had made a drunken promise, of sorts, the night before, and I was determined to go to this punk festival on an island. The plan was that Nerea, Mike and myself would get a bus that would take us to Camford Island, and meet up with her Spanish friends at the festival. Simple? Like hell it was. The bus journey was incredibly long, and when we finally reached our destination, we discovered we were on the site of waste disposal depot. We asked the driver the direction to the festival sight, to which he shuddered and stroked his whispy white beard. I half expected him to say: 'Ye had better turn back, for no-one has ever mentioned that island's name...AND LIVED!' But what he did say was a bit of a worry. He looked each of us in the eye - he doesn't have 3 eyes, by the way. What I mean is he looked at us one at a time - and he said in a stern voice: ' You better hurry, the tide is rising, and you don't want to get stuck and rescued by the Coastguard, do you?'
We nodded.
'DO YOU?!' he asked again, clearly wanting a verbal response.
We all mumbled our agreement.
So with the bus-drivers chilling message still ringning in our ears, we did the most sensible thing we could think of, and legged it towards the sea, hoping we could sprint across the small pathway that was soon to be submerged by the rough seas. We failed our task.
Nerea and Mike wrenched off their shoes and socks, rolled up their jean, and bombed across the pathway, which, already, had water covering it. I did the same, but it appeared I was the only one who applied some logic to this predicament, because whilst they were running ahead of me, I could see that their ankles were already submerged, and we still had a good mile of pathway ahead of us. So, at the rate we were going, we would be running along the seabed by the time we got to the end of the pathway. Therefore, I stopped running after 1 minute, realising the dangers involved in this, and shouted: 'Guys! I'm turning back. I think I would like to LIVE today.'
They stopped running. They looked perplexed at my statement. They looked at each other. Then at me. Then looked straight ahead at them. Then looked at me in unison, and did a kind of smile that would normally be followed with a faux-American style statement like: 'YOU GUUUUYS!'
Laughing, they walked back towards me, and we all laughed and joked how we nearly died a horrible and needless death.
To compensate for our wasted 2 hour journey, there and back, Nerea had an idea which was wise and profound: 'Let's get drunk!'.
She treated Mike and myself to a Spanish drink called - Calli-Majo. Which is red wine mixed with coca-cola. All I can say is that it is an aquired taste. But I was polite, and nodded my approval, whilst inspecting the bottle with a curious face. And that was what we did for the rest of the evening. Sat on the grass of West Princes Street Gardens , drinking this challenging Spanish concoction whilst listening to a wood-wind midget band from China. A good end to a turbulent day, I think.

2006-08-25T07:23:00.000-07:00

Compiling jokes for the paper is trickier than I thought. I am going to blame my surname for this. Holtmon is a bit of an unusual name - and 99.9% of people assume it's spelt HoltMAN not HoltMON, when I say my surname to them. So, when speaking to various important people on the phone like PR people and comedians, I tell them to send me info in an email - which they do...to the mis-spelt address. The cursed HoltMAN mis-spelling, when it should be sam@samholtMON.com. I am seriously thinking of changing my name by deed-pole. Get it changed to Holtman. Or, just to ensure that there will be no more problems like this ever again - sam@samsam.com. In fact, I quite like the name Sam Sam.

On the festival front - I saw the incredible Soweto Gospel Choir from South Africa absolutey blow the roof off the Assembly Hall. They were brilliant. The audience, which mainly consisted of octogenarians, were leaping up and down with enjoyment to the rythmic music. A great sight to behold. A bit embarrasing, however, was at the end of the show, when I was certain the choir were going to get a standing ovation, so I sprung up out of chair, hands raised clapping in the air, only to discover I was the only one doing this, and gingerly sat down again. Trust a British audience to remain seated at the end!

2006-08-24T06:33:00.000-07:00

After a finishing one feature-Fringe Nightmares- another one immediately pops up. This time I have to compile the top 50 jokes of the fringe. It's a hit or miss affair with some that make you do a loud spluttering laughing sound. Whilst others that make you produce a sound similar to "Harumph!". In fact I was saying that loudly in the office. No wonder I was getting odd looks.
Below are my favourite ones.

"I got an odd job man in. He was useless. Gave him a list of 8 things to doand he only did numbers 1,3,5, and 7. Had to get an even man in to finish itoff." Stephen Grant, Gilded Balloon.

"Christmas’ were terrible, not like now-a-days when kids get everything. I remember one year I got a jumper that was 20% nylon 80% brillo pad! And my sister got a miniature set of perfumes called Ample, it was tiny, and even I could see where my dad had scrapped off the S” Stephen K Amos, Pleasance Courtyard

"The inspiration for my latest character first came to me 6 months agowhen I saw another comic doing exactly the same act." Simon Brodkin, Pleasance Courtyard

"I realised I was dyslexic when I went to a toga party dressed as a goat."
Marcus Brigstocke, Pleasance Courtyard

"To us, bird watching is harmless. To them it's just creepy."
Demetri Martin, Assembly Rooms

"My body has changed so much since I have been here. My stomach is fat from thefood and booze, my legs are skinny from walking up all the hills. I’ve decidedthat ET wasn’t from out of space, he was from Edinburgh!"
Wil Anderson, Smirnoff Underbelly

"I banged my floor on the head with joy."
Tim Brooke-Taylor,The Goodies, Assembly Rooms

"Couldn't they have made dyslexia easier to spell?"
Demetri Martin, Udderbelly

"We need a more moderate leader in Iran. Something like a mullah-lite"
Shappi Korsandi, Pleasance Courtyard

"I’m still making love at 71. Which is handy for me, 'cos I live at number 63"
Bernie Clifton, Udderbelly

"My girlfriends from Australia, she came over to live with me in England but she had to move back after a few months for Visa reasons - she'd maxed out my card"
Gordon Southern, The Gilded Balloon

"I'm a big fan of the band Franz Ferdinand though part of me would like to see them assassinated just to see what happens"
Glenn Wool, The Tron

And my own personal favourite........."I've got a DeLorean. The Police hate it. They pull meover, walk up to the car, I wind down the window and yell: "What year is this?!" They hate that"
Paul Kerensa, Smirnoff Underbelly

2006-08-23T10:45:00.000-07:00

I've had a short sabbatical from the Fringe. I travelled to London on Sunday to see an excellent performance from those old Rolling Stones. A marvellous spectacle, only dampened by a short but brutal downpour at the beginning and a drunk old man in my row, falling over and crashing into the chairs in front. Which amused my friend and I very much He did this every 10 minutes or so. He may have looked utterly wrecked and confused but he had an efficient routine which ran like clockwork.

The next day I hopped back on a train which whisked me back into the hustle and bustle of the festival. I immediately got stuck into my work. I love it that I can call it work, when all I really do is sit in a theatre in a high-and-mighty posture, whilst a comedian tries and makes me laugh. I went to the Assembly Rooms to conduct a few vox pops for the paper. Once again, this proved to take more time than it should of. My opening gambit of, "Sorry Sir/Madam may I borrow you for a second" has, in the past, been greeted with, "I'd rather not," or a simple, "No". One eccentric loony even said "I suppose you want to sell me a religion". I explained to him that I was interviewing the public on what shows they've seen for the Edinburgh Evening News festival section, to which he bizzarely replied, "Yes. Yes. That's how it starts you see."
Anyway, it had taken me at least thirty minutes to get five soundbites written down in my notepad. I was just about to go to some other venue, when I chanced upon an old couple who would provide me with my vox-pop highlight of the whole festival.
The old man had those arched bushy eyebrows, which peaked upwards in the middle. The old woman was tiny and wore an anarok with her hood over her head, even though it was relatively mild and sunny. They were both leaning on a bin, which, already, proved they were going to give me a crazy answer to my question.
"Hello, I am a reporter for the Evening News," I said, changing my usual opening introduction, as 'borrowing' sounds slightly sinister in hindsight.
"Why hello there young chap," said the exceedingly posh old fella with a little wave.
I grinned a huge smile. This was going to be fantastic.
"I was wondering if you have seen any good shows since you've been in Edinburgh."
"Oh yes yes yes. We certainly have."
Silence.
I smiled and nodded, urging him on. But he merely stood there, eyes closed, head tilted up in the air, with his hands behind his back. I shot a glance to his wife who was nodding feverishly. I made a writing gesture with my hand, hoping she would understand and fill this enigmatic silence her husband had needlessly created. She complied with a scary zest I had never before seen from a mere human being.
"WELL! We saw Ketzal, the fantastic theatre show from St Petersburg. Have you seen it?"
"What, St Petersburg?" I chided.
She and her husband exploded with laughter. I mean, exploded. I took a step back.
Diverting them from my rubbish joke, I asked if they had seen any other shows they would care to comment on, to which the old man raised his finger in the air, and theatrically said, "No. Ketzall is the one for us. And I believe, the only one!" He even did a little bow when he said this.
I made a note of this, as I wanted him to feel his response held some resonance.
They were incredibly estatic that their names were going to be in the paper. They told me not to print anything of a slanderous nature about them. Although a headline, "OLD COUPLE GO TO THE THEATRE. ABSOLUTE DISGRACE!" is unlikely to sell many papers.
I bid a fond farewell to them and went to the nearest internet cafe to type up my feature piece - 'Fring Nightmares'.
After that, I realised, for the first time since arriving at the festival, that I had absolute nothing booked in my diary. No shows, meetings, or interviews. Nothing. I was free to roam. So I checked out all the little venues I haven't had a chance to see since coming to Edinburgh. Whilst doing this I noticed a sign in a trendy bar that disturbed me. It seems my ridicule of 'Accoustic David' and all he stood for had no basis. For he was top of the bill that night. I admire the guy. Last time, his poster was clumsily cellotaped on a tilt at the front of stinking pub in a side street. Now, he gets a nice black board. This time next year he'll be headlining Glastonbury and writing his autobiography: 'Accoustic David: My Uninspiring Story'

I did manage to take in a show later in the evening. 'We are Klang', who have been nominated for a Perrier Award - although they're not called Perriers now, it's something rubbish like, edinburgh.comedy.com. They were a three man sketch troupe and they were great. It was slightly intimidating because they were peforming in a tiny hut a dwarf would take offence to, and one of the troupe was 6ft7inch. And he did a lot of physical stuff like jumping and running around. It was as if we were all trapped in a small paddock with a crazy T-Rex.
Good fun, though.

2006-08-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

I've witnessed the most unusual shows today. They were all on at the Pleasance. The first one , at 11.30, was called The Acrobat. I read the flyer before going into the theatre. The impression I got was that this was going to be a hilarious play full of japes, juggling and general slapstick. I needed something nice and visual because I was nursing quite a brutal hangover. The room was half-empty. Populated with families and, what looked to be, an exchange group of students from India. When the lights dimmed, the acrobat in question, bounded on stage singing: 'Tra-la-la-la-laaa.' This was good, I thought, a play that won't make me use my brain. But as the minutes clocked up, it was apparant that this was a surreal piece of art theatre. It had a laughing clown that didn't add anything to the story whatsoever. There was also an actress who staggered on stage with a black blanket over her head, accompanied with huge black hands. The show was a mystery to me. Perhaps I was still in bed and dreamt this.
The next show at the Pleasance was Accidentally Waiting To Happen. It's one of these shows you know you are, at some point, going to see if you are exposed to a large amount of shows. It concerned 3 women who.......I'm not too sure , to be honest. One of the actresses was under a bed for most of the show, whilst the other actress was under an umbrella, whilst in a foetal position. And they shouted alot.
My hangover was officially worse.
Next stop of the day was at the Pleasance Dome, to see an innovative comedian called Richard Domenichi. He used his apple-mac and various gizmos to detail the events that concerned him picking up a lost wallet, and whether he was able to track down the person who lost it. Very funny. I think the whole room was populated by his mates, though because he was getting prompting from the audience. 'No, no, no. That wasn't Pete, that was Dave you were thinking about. Remember? ' That was the general jist of what was being shouted around the room.
Next up, Sit, at the Courtyard. I had my doubts, at first, because it was, after all, the history of the chair. Once again - the history of the CHAIR! I half expected a academic looking old guy with mad-frizzled hair walking out on stage, and sternly talking to us about chairs for over an hour. But, instead, it was the show I had been looking for to cure my hangover. Full of mischief, slapstick, and fantastic visuals. It was basically 3 Spanish guys running around whacking each other with chairs. Whilst, using a big screen, documenting the chair through the ages. Brilliant!
Hangover cured.

2006-08-18T09:21:00.000-07:00

Edinburgh has been engulfed by a blanket of fog. The city, when sunny, is a great example of a cosmopolitan city, especially during the festival. When foggy, however, it's wonderfully eerie and spooky. Just looking up at Edinburgh Castle from Cowgate road is a sight to behold. The flags on the turrents flapping behind dense mist. And at night, whilst illuminated by lights, it takes on an almost magical quality.

Whilst navigating my way through the fog, I saw a great little show called 'Cooped' at the Assembly Rooms. A farce of epic proportions, and a random, if frankly disturbing, bit of full frontal nudity. Set within a gothic mansion, a murderer runs rampant, and the inhabitants - a seamstress, a butler, detective and the owner - must figure out who the killer is before they get dispatched. The humour is similar to the Airplane and Naked Gun franchises. Utterly ridiculous, but extremely watchable all the same.
After that, I saw the deeply dissapointing Michael McIntyre at the Pleasance Dome. He had been a Perrier Newcomer nominee last year, so I was expecting laughs aplenty. Instead, I sat stoney faced throughout. Mabye I'm being exposed to too much comedy at this festival and have lost my ability to laugh and, instead, I've become a bitter old cumudgeron. I hope not. But his show was slighty naff. The naffness was heightened when he accompanied each of his jokes with the cheesiest smile possible. I was cornered after the show by a woman who had seen me taking notes throughout. She told me how she had seen him twice already and how she thought he was the best comedian at the Fringe. She asked me what my opinion was and whether I'd be writing a good review. She had real hope in her eyes. I couldn't exactley say: "Rubbish!" and walk off. So I mumbled something along the lines of, "Very good, yes, very good. He certainly has a natural...speaking...voice. Good day!" Then walked off.

The Bedlham Theatre is now becoming my favourite venue. It always puts on innovative shows. True, some of them are hit and miss, but at least all of them are original. And it is student orientated, which gives the productions a freshness about them. After Little Red Things, which was sensational, I saw the equally impressive Alice Through The Looking Glass. A great twist on the legendary fairytale, with great sets and creative direction.

Special mention to Tim Vine's poster along the road to the Underbelly. It could well be the best poster ever conceived.

2006-08-17T11:23:00.000-07:00

The show tally is increasing by the day. I have lost count now. It must be over 30, at least. I flick through my diary and each day is crammed with all these shows. I have to write in tiny atom-sized writing to fit all these in the days specified. I really should have purchased a bigger diary, rather than the one I have, the A5 size. Tight git that I am.
I saw a brilliant show which was called 'Little Red Things', which is at the Bedlham Theatre. It was a fantastic play. I would definitely put it in my top 3. Granted, it involved little red puppets, but the story was great. It concerned little creatures forming from rain, and seek to help humans become better people. A live piano score made it even more spellbinding. There was a huge round of applause, accompanied by a standing ovation. Some old man in the row in front of me was stomping his foot on the ground as if his life depended on it. I'm not surprised- it was that good. On the way out, I saw the producer in deep converstion with an important looking man, so I silently caught her attention, and gave her the thumbs up, which she replied in kind. I also mimed '5-stars!', which was, basically, me holding out my hand with my palm facing her, flexing my fingers in and out, repeatedly. I don't think she understood this. She, instead, looked confused. Perhaps she felt I was saying goodbye to her in a rather odd way.
The comedy shows, on the other hand, have been below par, to say the least.
Rhod Gilbert, for instance, at the Pleasance, was a slightly dull affair. My distress was enhanced further, when I was sat next to the fattest man I think I've ever seen. I wanted to take a picture of him, but that is ethically and morally wrong. Anyway, he kept on wiggling his ass in his chair, which, in turn, spilt the pint of beer he was holding into my lap. He was laughing at all the wrong moments, as well. When Rhod Gilbert came on stage and said: "Hello, I'm Rhod Gilbert."The fat guy was laughing his tits off, spilling more beer into my lap. But when Gilbert actually told some jokes, he was heckling and goading him. "Tell us another one", he was shouting. A highly uncomfortable experience. My experience of sitting next to mad-hatters continued further when I saw the fantastic Hip Hop/Dance production In The Hoods, at the Udderbelly. Whilst enjoying every minute of the show, and tapping my foot along to the excellent music, featuring Prince, Marvin Gaye and James Brown, an old biddy next to me, who looked as though she had time-travelled from Victorian times. I don't think she enjoyed it. I don't even think she had seen a black person before. But whenever I tapped my foot along to the music, she shot a look of disgust directly at me. I had no idea what her problem was. Mabye the music wasn't the gangsta rap she was expecting. Perhaps this had caused her foul mood.
I also saw a sublime one-off Stewart Lee gig, and a Mike McShane (Frair Tuck in Prince of Thieves) perform an improv show. Great stuff. He should do more I reckon. Make it a feature everynight at the fringe. He would be bloody kanckerd, though.
The feature article, 'Fringe Nightmares', is going well. I have now got stories from Tim Minchin, Jeff Green and Brendan Burns. Before speaking to Minchin, the PR girl said: "Bewarned, he may be hungoever." He was cool though. Nice quick, concise story, which was genuinely funny, involving 8 burly Scottish men lifting a grand piano up a spiral staircase, and nearly dropping the bloody thing. Brendan Burns was a good one too. The conversation slightly strayed from the purpose, when he, suddenly, put his little kid on the phone, who continualy shrieked: "WAAAAAAAHHHHH!". Other than that, it was plain sailing.

2006-08-14T13:40:00.000-07:00

This assignment is going well. I have now got soundbites off Sarah Kendall and Butch (from Topping and Butch). Getting the soundbite off Kendall was a joy. She had a really funny story involving playing her first Fringe show to 3 people which included 2 reviewers and a guy on smack. The other one, from Butch, was a little more tricky. I had heard from various sources that this camp double-act, who play to huge crowds at the Fringe each year, nearly had to pull the plug on their Edinburgh run because Butch (Andrew Simmons) had laryngitus. So I phoned their PR company to arrange a phone interview. It suddenly struck me that I was in the middle of a press office, with plenty of nice girls around me. I didn't want them to hear me begin a phone converstaion with the line: "Hello, Butch". So I insisted the PR people give me his real name, which they did. Nice people that they are.
The phone converstion started well, (well how idiotic do you have to be to screw up the 'Hello' intro to a phone conversation) but it then took a turn for the worse. I enquired about what his 'Fringe Nightmare' was. He then gave me a story that would make a great feature for the paper, involving illness, riots, a one-man double act and so on. So when he said....."I tell you Samuel, I nearly died..." I was purely thinking of what a great story this would make for the paper so I said, "Cool!" I immediately realised what a stupid-ass thing that was to say, but before I could apologize, he grumbled, "No, that's not COOL. It's deeply serious."
It all turned out fine in the end, though. Due to me apologizing profusely after and laughing at all his jokes.
I tell you, you got to sweat blood these days to get a small soundbite.

I've also decided to start seeing more theatre shows. I couldn't have picked a worse day for this decision. The first play was at 11am. A bit too early, but I was willing to give this show a crack because it involved monk puppets. How cool is that? OK, not very. It was called 'Haolzkla' (you try ordering a ticket for a show with that name, and NOT get a laugh from the other person down the line - you sound like a drunkard). It wasn't too bad. Very original and atmospheric.
The second one, though, was bizzare, to say the least. It was called 'Kid Simple' and it was also at the Bedlham theatre. If you asked me what it was about I couldn't for the life of me tell you. I realised how strange this play was when I began making notes. First thing I wrote was ordinary enough - "Lonely girl likes radio shows'". Second thing was fine, if a bit more strange - "She wishes to build her own radio so that she could make her own shows". After that it all just fell to pieces. My notes were filled with uncorrelated sentances like "Clown jumping up and down for 5minutes", "A horse-man wanting to shag trees" "2 puppet trolls yakking away to each other" ......that kind of thing. I was sat at the back of the theatre so I could assess the damage the play was having on the audience. It made for distressing viewing. The woman in front of me was out cold. The man 3 rows ahead was sending text messages on his phone throughout the performance. And some bloke at the front was having a whale of a time. He was clapping, smiling, nodding and pointing (for some bizarre reason) to every facial gesture the actors pulled. He must of been the producer trying to add the illusion to the rest of the audience that this play was actually good. Alas, we WERE the audience.
After walking out of the venue for some much needed air and a sanity check, I noticed the oddest looking Fringe Venue. It appeared not to have any entrance whatsoever! I bet it's an elaborate prank by a student revue who are being 'ironic', or something.

2006-08-13T11:51:00.000-07:00

Walking along the Royal Mile you realise that the whole world decends on this road. In one day I saw a group of Japanese Geishas, an authentic bluesman from Chicago, a Rabbi from Guantanemo Bay, a dead leafletter and what I think is Bob Dylan dressed in Tudor clothes.

2006-08-13T11:21:00.000-07:00

This 'Fringe Nightmare' feature is going well. So far I have anecdotes from Marcus Brigstocke, Shappi Korsandi, Andy Zaltzman, Sarah Kendell and Scott Capuro. All their stories are really funny, but it's quite diconserting chatting on the phone to a comedian because they are in'comedian' mode, and are performing. The only problem is, I'm the only audience member so I have to laugh harder than I would normally. It's very tiring. My favourite story has to go to Marcus Brigstocke, who in full Giles Wemmbley Hogg style, decided to test out his new rollerskates after his gig and one too many drinks. He subsequently was charging down the hills of Edinburgh, unable to stop. Eventually, he ended up 45 minutes from his flat and had to stagger all the way back home.
A day in the life of a comedian.

After phoning up various PR people trying to get their clients to give me soundbites, I decided to see a few shows. One of these being one of the most talked about shows at the Fringe Andrew Lawrence - How To Butcher Your Loved Ones. It was very 'out there'. Even he said, at the end of his set, that his show, 'gives a new meaning to the term aquired taste.' He's not wrong.
Admist stand-up about murder, necrophillia and incest and music about murder, necrophillia and incest, he spoke in growling, strangled squeal, which was slightly disturbing. The guy is undoubtedly talented because after seeing 2 run-of-the-mill stand-up shows - Kevin Tomlinson and Fred Macauly - Lawrence's show is the one you think about at the end of the day. I even met a BBC Radio Comedy Producer at the end of the show. The producer said he had a vested interest in the guy because he was signing him up for a radio show. I'm pretty it won't be a guest appearance on 'I'm Sorry, I Haven't A Clue'.

2006-08-12T13:31:00.000-07:00

My media pass, I'm convincved, has special powers. It seems to provide a protective shield against getting taunts from comedians. I noticed this last year when seeing Jerry Sadowitz at the Assembly Rooms. He has a reputation for being a crazed, un-pc, violent magician....on a good day. He was in the middle of heckling the front row (of which I, foolishly, was part). After systematically destroying the personalities of the hapless row in the front, he came to me. I flashed my press pass in the manner of I'm-a-reviewer-I-can-destroy-your-career kind of way. He duely noticed this and missed me out of his rant, of which he carried on with the poor lady next to me. This happened again tonight. Russell Kane, the elfin like performer, who uses swear words to make up 99% of his sentances, was just starting his routine. I think he was, because I was late for his show. I crept into the venue as quietly as I could, but he noticed me, and swung round in anger. I waved my pass in a frantic way - which should have warrented at least 15 minutes taunting in itself- and he didn't say a thing about my late arrival. He did, however, rip into some poor young couple who snuck in 1 minute after me.
After this festival, I'm pawning this pass for at least 1m pounds. I'm not sure the value of magic badges these days, but I guess it's around that mark.

2006-08-12T10:47:00.000-07:00

I have a new assignment at the paper to get stuck into. It's pretty cool. I have to get as many anecdotes from comedians about their 'Fringe Nightmates'- bad experiences they may have had whilst performing.
It's a nice idea, I think. But infinitely more difficult to pull off. I tried to begin this assignment last night, whilst seeing the critically acclaimed, Charlie Pickering. He performed a less than inspired set, and with my notepad at the ready, I waited for him to take his end of show bow, then leap into action and grab a soundbite off him. Simple? No-bloody-way! He did his customary bow, then, literally, legged it as fast as he could out of the venue. He may not have performed his best show, but come on, most comedians sneak away behind a curtain or something. Not out of the bleedin' exit doorn that punters use! Anyway, I snooped around at the end of the show and asked one of the helpful guys in charge of the security about his whereabouts.
"Dunno, mate", was the response I got.
Feeling ill and tired, I dedcided to miss to modestly named: "Reggie Watts: SUPERCOMEDIAN!" show.
I decided to type up a few reviews then head off home for some much needed sleep.
It's a drag that whenever I submit material to the paper, I have to use one of the three computers at the Pleasance Press Office - which are always occupied. The press office is full of trendy thirtysomethings with impeccable fashion sense. They all posess lap-tops with i-pods plugged into their computers. I, however, stumble in, with my scruffy hair and clothes, with my pad and pencil (i lost my biro) waiting in the shadows for a computer. It's either that, or an internet cafe, which is a good 30 minute walk away. It's inordinately pricey, but compensated by the fact that it is owned by the happiest chap in Edinburgh. He gives a light chuckle to anyone that enters the shop, which I think is endearing, if a little creepy.
After typing up my reviews in the internet cafe, I bid a fond farewell to happy chappy internet dude, who, in turn, Ha Hars a little to loudly. As I picked up my things (pad and pencil) I noticed that I was feeling slightly under the weather. I hold Momma Cherries Soul In A Bowl fully responsible for that

2006-08-10T13:04:00.000-07:00

After waking up at 10 am and enjoying my Muesli, whilst watching T4, my editor called me to inform me that he needed at least 10 vox-pops ASAP. So I quickly got changed and rushed out the front door (you wouldn't believe the amount of keys are needed to ensure the security of the flat is impenetrable). The Royal Mile was scattered with early-risers, leafletters and plain wackos. 1 hour later, and 10 vox-pops scibbled on the pad - I made my way to The Scotsman's Headquarters on Holyrood Road. I typed up the vox-pops and my reviews of the previous night, and told my Editor what shows he might like me to review.
He asked me, " Well, what shows are you booked for?"
10 minutes later of systematically listing the 30 -odd shows I was scheduled to see, he exhaustedly waved me away to go about my business. So, with my work at the office complete, I went on my way to increase the tally of shows I've seen. Not before, however, I made up my own personal game of 'Best and Worst Names For Shows' (I should think of something more catchier if it's going become a TV Pilot). Whilst wandering around the city, I saw some absolute beauties. But the winners are......
Best : Tossers

Worst : Acoustic David

ACOUSTIC DAVID!! He's not even trying. Why even bother with the 'Acoustic' bit. Just call your act 'David'. It'll be brilliant. You'll tell your friends: "Fancy seeing a gig tonight?"
They'll go: "Oh yeah? Who do you fancy seeing"
And you'd beam, "David"
Just watch their puzzled faces with delight.

Back to the shows. I saw I've seen a couple of decent shows (which can be a rare occurence at the festival). The highlights being Colin and Fergus, the fantastic double act, that centred their story around a bath tub hell bent on taking over the world(!) - which had be laughing like a demented shaking animal in the corner of the room. I had to try with all my might to contain myself. It really was that good. The other show was Russell Howard's 'Wandering', which cemented his reputation as the next 'big thing' on the stand-up circuit, and one of his off-key remarks should be given some kind of reward: "There's nothing more funny than a old man being hit by a frisbee."
Special mention should also be given to the Dutch Elm Conservatoire team - who's show 'Prison' is very good, with plenty of laughs to be had.
I'm always glad when I can pick up tickets for shows at the Pleasance Courtyard. This is because I can drop into my local eatery - which, I'm afraid to say, has replaced The Tempting Tatties off Jeffrey Street. This new place is below the press office at the Pleasance Dome and it's called: 'Momma Sherri's Soul Food Shack' - as featured on Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares. Needless to say, the food is delicious, and Ol' Momma herself knows my 'usual' now.
She greets me always with her Southern twang : "Ya want the Soul in a Bowl Meat Jambayala Momma special, honey?!!"
To which I reply : "Oh, yes please!". I somehow become more English when I enter her little eatery, it's weird.

2006-08-09T08:13:00.000-07:00

I have now seen 3 shows. All of which have varied in quality. The first, which was called 'The Future, featured a double-act who felt that being funny involved mugging, gurning and speaking in silly voices. The show itself had no reference to the future at all! It was just 2 blokes in buttoned-up shirts tucked into their trousers, yaking on about the stock market.....in a silly voice. I was sat at the edge of the theatre, so when they took a bow, they may have heard an angry audience member slam the exit door behind him. Sorry about that.
The second show was far better. It was called 'Skinner and Bell: The Men Who Killed Death'. They were a great double-act. It reminded me of The Mighty Boosh. For instance, the story involves two londoners who share a flat. They then go off on a perillous journey to find Bell's missing Uncle , who had been treking up MountKilimanfugi in search of a mythical mountain beast called McWookie (told you it was bonkers). Along the way they meet a shrinking French explorer, a Girl Whisperer (like the Horse Whisperer - but for girls), and Michael Bolton (!).

I thought it was fantastic, and if they are promoted enough, they could go very far.
However, Harry Shearer, and his wife, Judith Owen's, 'So Not About The Simpsons' was one of the biggest anti-climaxes I have ever experienced. It was, to put it bluntly, woeful.
I really thought it was going to be a good show. The intro alone was great- Shearer ambled on stage and started introducing the show with the various voices he provides for The Simpsons. I was so excited I began rocking back and forth in my chair giggling like there was no tomorrow. And when Shearer slung his bass guitar around his shoulder, it was all I could do to reamin seated in my chair without leaping up, jabbing my finger towards Shearer and shouting:'IT'S DEREK SMALLS FROM SPINAL TAP!!'. This excitement, however, gave way to mild grumpiness when I realised the show was rubbish. The stand-up had no jokes. The video footage of crazy Evangelical Priests was muffled and unclear and the songs were overlong and boring (A song about Botox lasted a whole 10 minutes!) You know when you're witnessing a bad show when the hecklers are the funniest people in the room. Two drunk lads behind me responsed to a rather lame joke by Shearer, by making a rather loud noise, which sounded like: 'HUUUUMPH!'. They thought this was so funny, they kept on doing this throughout the show. Sometimes during some of Shearer and Owen's songs. It was mortifying. To see an icon of the best cartoon series and best film ever, being reduced to a sweating, jibbering wreck, was too painful to watch. But I could clearly see where the hecklers were coming from with their dissatisfaction. Plus the poor bastards had to pay for their tickets!
Still, after a so-so start to the festival, I managed to take a couple of snaps of the beaytiful city at sunset.

2006-08-07T06:30:00.000-07:00

The festival wheels are now beginning to set in motion. I am now the proud owner of about 50 press tickets. I think I went overboard this year because when I pick them up at various press offices, the person behind the desk simply hands over the hundred or so tickets and simply says: "Oh-my-god".
Some of the shows I'm expected to see are Tim Minchin, Harry Shearer's This Is So Not About The Simpsons, Stephen K Amos, Mark Watson, Iain Stone, Andrew Lawrence....let's put it this way, bloody loads.
I have finally seen the incredibly crazed creation that is the Udderbelly.
I still can't decide whether this is the best venue I have ever come across, or it's simply an elaborate bouncy castle...or a bouncy cow, which makes so much more sense. Why a cow? Why upsidedown? Why? WHHHY?!! Why not, I suppose. Anyway, I was entertained by the fantastic breakdancers who were breaking right outside this rather camp Wicker-Man style creation.
More updates on shows to come.

2006-08-06T04:45:00.000-07:00

After an uneventful four and a half hour journery on the train from London, I finally arrived in Edinburgh at a little past six o clock. Walking out of Waverleigh Station onto Princes Street, I contemplated whether to walk towards the Royal Mile- the stretch of road which is the heart and soul of the festival. I wanted to get a feel of the festival and possibly see a show or two. But, looking at the two cubersome bags I was carrying on either shoulder, I decided that crashing out on a comfy bed was a far sounder option. So I took a deep breath and staggered towards the flat I have rented for a month.
Navigating through Princes Street on a busy Saturday evening without knocking people in the legs with my bag, is about as easy as doing the tightrope with two elephants tied around your ankles. My 3 tonne bags even made a direct swinging hit in the face of little fella. I legged it before any angry parent remonstrated with me.
The flat, I'm sad to say, is a little out of the way of anywhere I need to be in a hurry. I say this because, foolishly, I decided on walking to the flat from Waverleigh Station. It took over an hour to get there. It nearly crippled me. Knocking on the door to my new flat, I was using the last ounce of energy I had to stand up straight and wipe away the sweat that was dribbling down my face profusely. I looked a wreck. But I was made to feel more than welcome by my new flatmates, Michael and Nareera (correct spelling? propbably not), who gave me the detour of the house, of which I did a lot of nodding and said 'ok' a lot. A few beers later I was shattered, and went into one of the deepest sleeps I think I've ever had.... not right in front of them whilst they were drinking the beers, of course. After I excused myself. That would have been rude otherwise.

2006-08-03T13:01:00.000-07:00

Hello one and all, and welcome to my Edinburgh Festival blog.
I have decided to write an account of the daily happenings that occur at the festival this year because….well…..I just feel like it.

I am back writing for the Evening News this year and as a result I have been armed with a press badge. I am therefore aiming to take advantage of this pass and break my own personal record for the amount of shows I see. Last year it was 50. It’s going to take vast amounts of energy/caffeine/alcohol/out-of-body experiences to achieve this feat. Ideally, I want to see 60 shows to mark the 60th Edinburgh Festival. As well as beating personal records, I have come to Edinburgh hoping to see an eclectic mix of comedy, theatre and music. Eclectic is perhaps one of the best ways to describe the Fringe festival. I say this because, judging from my own past experiences, you could be watching an inspired performance of Japanese street theatre then, immediately after, you could be in the presence of a bloke dressed up as a nun, singing about suicide in a show entitled ‘The Singing Nun’. The festival has a tendency to be a bit like that whether you like it or not.
A quick flick through the 215 page fringe programme confirms that, once again, there will be no shortage of quality shows on offer, but the less said about ‘Lunch with the Hamiltons’ the better.
World renowned for its comedy scene, the fringe’s stand-up shows this year look as strong as ever. Heavy hitters such as Bill Bailey, Adam Hills, Stephen K Amos, Sarah Kendall, Perrier Award Winner Tim Minchin and Richard Herring will all be performing one hour shows. The excellent Simon Munnery will also be doing his usual stint at The Stand, where he has the great idea of carrying on his 1 hour show in the pub afterwards, with the audience all invited. Brilliant!
The fresh faced comedy talent this year comes in the form of Mark Kirshen, Ruth Pickett, The Dutch Elm Conservatoire, Mark Watson and the Sony Award nominated and, quite frankly, scary looking, Andrew Lawrence – his show is entitled ‘How To Butcher Your Loved Ones’ – no wonder he’s bloody scary looking. I am hoping to see them all at some point, plus countless of other shows.

Amidst the unpredictability of the Fringe a few certainties will always be present:

1) Batting away the over eager leaflet distributors on the Royal Mile with a rolled up newspaper
2) My bank account will read - £0.000.00 at the end of the festival
3) I’ll be propped up on my chair inside a dust-filled church-hall trying to figure out the plot of a student revue.
4) Asking for directions to one of the more obscure venues and getting a reply from someone with the thickest Scottish accent imaginable. As a result, I believe Venue 6,008 is in the vicinity of “Aye! Achmanooon! Cannatakeaturnatthelights if ye dinna nae hae in May. Ha Ha Ha”
5) Seeing a really poor show, and realising that all I’ve got to show for my written notes is the sentence: ‘God Help Me!’

With that in mind, I’m off to begin packing for the journey!